My New Curate | Page 3

did not raise my drooped spirits. I went
home, sat down by my little table, and gave myself up to gloomy
reflections.
It must have been eight o'clock, or more, for the twilight had come
down, and my books and little pictures were looking misty, when a

rat-tat-tat rang at the door. I didn't hear the car, for the road was muddy,
I suppose; but I straightened myself up in my arm-chair, and drew my
breviary towards me. I had read my Matins and Lauds for the following
day, before dinner; I always do, to keep up the old tradition amongst
the Irish priests; but I read somewhere that it is always a good thing to
edify people who come to see you. And I didn't want any one to suspect
that I had been for a few minutes asleep. In a moment, Hannah, my old
housekeeper, came in. She held a tiny piece of card between her fingers,
which were carefully covered with her check apron, lest she should soil
it. I took it--while I asked--
"Who is it?"
"I don't know, your reverence."
"Is 't a priest?"
"No, but I think he's a gintleman," she whispered. "He talks like the
people up at the great house."
She got a candle, and I read:--
Rev. Edward Letheby, B. A., C. C.
"'Tis the new curate," I said.
"Oyeh," said Hannah, whose dread and admiration for the "strange
gintleman" evaporated, when she found he was a mere curate.
I went out and welcomed with what warmth I could my new coöperator.
It was too dark for me to see what manner of man he was; but I came to
some rapid conclusions from the way he spoke. He bit off his words, as
riflemen bite their cartridges, he chiselled every consonant, and gave
full free scope to every vowel. This was all the accent he had, an accent
of precision and determination and formalism, that struck like a knell,
clear and piercing on my heart.
"I took the liberty of calling, Sir," he said, "and I hope you will excuse

my troubling you at such an unseasonable hour; but I am utterly
unacquainted with the locality, and I should be thankful to you if you
would refer me to a hotel."
"There's but one hotel in the village," I replied slowly. "It has also the
advantage of being the post-office, and the additional advantage of
being an emporium for all sorts of merchandise, from a packet of pins
to Reckitt's blue, and from pigs' crubeens to the best Limerick flitches.
There's a conglomeration of smells," I continued, "that would shame
the City on the Bosphorus; and there are some nice visitors there now
in the shape of two Amazons who are going to give selections from
'Maritana' in the school-house this evening; and a drunken acrobat, the
leavings of the last circus."
"Good heavens," he said under his breath.
I think I astonished him, as I was determined to do. Then I relented, as I
had the victory.
"If, however," said I, "you could be content with the humble
accommodation and poor fare that this poor presbytery affords, I shall
be delighted to have you as my guest, until you can secure your own
little domicile."
"I thank you very much, Sir," said he, "you are extremely kind. Would
you pardon me a moment, whilst I dismiss the driver and bring in my
portmanteau?"
He was a little humbled and I was softened. But I was determined to
maintain my dignity.
He followed me into the parlor, where the lamp was now lighting, and I
had a good opportunity of observing him. I always sit with my back to
the light, which has the double advantage of obscuring my own features
and lighting up the features of those whom I am addressing. He sat
opposite me, straight as an arrow. One hand was gloved; he was toying
gently with the other glove. But he was a fine fellow. Fairly tall, square
shouldered, not a bit stout, but clean cut from head to spur, I thought I

should not like to meet him in a wrestling bout, or try a collision over a
football. He had a mass of black hair, glossy and curled, and parted at
the left side. Large, blue-black luminous eyes, that looked you squarely
in the face, were hardly as expressive as a clear mouth that now in
repose seemed too quiet even for breathing. He was dressed ad ----.
Pardon me, dear reader, I have had to brush up my classics, and Horace
is like a spring eruption. There was not a line of white visible above his
black collar; but a square of white in front, where the edges parted. A
heavy chain hung from his vest; and